


Professional

by slinkhard (merrymelody)



Category: Harry Potter RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-14
Updated: 2012-07-14
Packaged: 2017-11-09 23:20:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/459604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrymelody/pseuds/slinkhard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written about ten years ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Professional

Daniel’s known he was gay since he was nine.

It’s no big deal to him. Everyone in the profession is, and his ultra-liberal, modern, trendy Fulham parents couldn’t give a damn as long as he stays within the caste of SW1.

It’s not like he’ll ever be bullied – he’ll probably never go back to the public all-boys school he used to attend, which was exclusive and cushy. His family have money and he’s an actor, which adds a little glamour to the tackiness associated with their new money, the bulk of which is now his earnings rather than inheritance. 

He’s a millionaire (although of course it’s all in trust for him until he hits eighteen – his parents are no fools) which buys a lot of tolerance, and although the upper-class aren’t famed for their compassion, being a queer is trivial nowadays. 

His parents will likely get understanding nods and the suggestion that perhaps he didn’t play enough rugby, preferring the costumes of the school plays. He’ll look at them proudly, grateful for their tolerance, smiling a little at their naivety – the rugger buggers were the most oblivious at school. 

Acting macho while they wrestled together on the common room sofas, playing ‘Bundle’, a game in which the entire point is to jump on top of an unsuspecting male ‘bundling’ him, sometimes thirty on top of each other, crushed together, sweating. 

Comparing dick size in the showers, jerking each other off at night when everyone (of age – Daniel just watched in awe and a little fear, his small face pressed against the starched pillow, eyes wide) is homesick and horny. 

He wonders if they know the definition of ‘homoerotic’.

Despite his awareness of his sexuality, Daniel’s never really been interested in anyone. 

He thinks his type would probably be small, effeminate. 

He never felt an attraction to any of the rugby players; too hairy, bellowing constantly.

He thinks they’d be rough. 

He imagines his type would be someone along the lines of Alfonso or David, touchy feely men, sensitive men. 

Men who are intelligent, who would tell him how they feel about him rather than muttering incoherently. 

Men who stroke his arm and tell him how talented he is, giving him shivers, rather than tongue-tied men who stroke his cock with battered hands. 

He imagines.

He doesn’t like hero worship though, no one who’s really ‘famous’ does; he believes, and as ‘Harry Potter’ he certainly qualifies. 

The only stars he sees flaunting their many fans, are the ones between the pages of The Sun, soap stars and ex-boyband members. He sneaks guilty peeks at the paper during tea breaks in the Green Room – his parents prefer The Telegraph, with The Mail on Sunday as a weekend treat. 

He sympathises with Tom, who hates attention more than the rest of the cast, even shy Bonnie; and characteristically delayed his promotional interview as long as possible, before appearing, smirking, as if to say ‘What was all the fuss about?’ 

Of course, he then mumbled all the way through it.

Daniel thinks Tom should be more professional, however. 

Daniel enjoys a quiet life, too; but he recognises the nature of the game, and he pays now for the quiet life he’ll have, the career as a famous director. 

Daniel loves the business, but he prefers to be on the other side of the camera, the voyeur, looking in, telling others where to stand. 

The one who receives the acclaim, but avoids the spotlight.

He’s friendly to everyone. He has all the contacts he needs for when the films are finished, and he’s been promised a place at London’s best film school whenever he wants to take it. There are better teachers in LA, but Daniel doesn’t want to press his luck. 

He has a name here, he’s done theatre and the classics, he’s got respect, which doesn’t travel well to the US, who turn out android style assembly lines full of Haley Joel Osmonts. Daniel was trained, British style, for the stage, and he’s aware that this doesn’t impress the critics as much as the more understated American actors, who seem to emerge from the womb with perfect white teeth and a propensity for remembering their lines. 

Daniel would prefer to let the fuss of the boy wizard die down, and make his comeback with the skills he’ll be remembered for. 

Daniel thinks Tom ought to be as ambitious. Certainly, he’s not as talented or as well-known, but with more effort, he could be have a career in television or brush up on his skills with a term or two at Sylvia Young’s. 

Daniel thinks, with malicious humour, that Tom would suit Eastenders – learning his lines for the day, a cup of tea, then attending the latest D-list bar with a Page Three girl.

He’s definitely not fit for the stage. For their first rehearsal, they’d done warm-ups and he’d looked uncomfortable just rolling up. Daniel wonders how he’d cope with the singing and modern dance that accompanies most theatrical lessons, and giggles at the idea of Tom in a leotard.

Tom doesn’t even think about characterisation. 

Daniel has developed Harry’s instincts, so he feels he knows how Harry would react in any given situation. The first week they joined the cast, they were each told to bring an item in that is of importance to their character, and explain why and what it means to them.  
Daniel spoke emotively for ten minutes about the wand he picked up down the joke shop, mentioning canonical references to the text.

Tom brought a rock.

A rock he mumbled about for about ten seconds before sitting down, thankfully. Then at the break, he lit a cigarette, mindful of the other’s awe, and grunts about how ‘stupid’ the exercises were. 

Daniel seethed.

However, Daniel makes an effort to get on with everyone, smiling for the photographers with extras and adults alike – there are no small parts, only small actors. 

And Tom, dedicated actor or not, plays well with him. 

Their scenes have a certain energy – he’d call it chemistry if he wasn’t still at the age where that sounds vaguely dirty.

Tom doesn’t try to take the spotlight, he wants it less than Daniel, which is a shame because objectively, he could attain the heartthrob status, take the heat off Daniel. 

It’s not like Rupert can, despite his enthusiasm; (Tom and Dan are the old hands, child actors who’ve seen it all and are amazed that the others still get excited at photo-calls or interviews) or Emma could, despite her ambition. 

Daniel is practical at assessing appeal, he’s learned to be after multiple rejections for being the wrong type or size or shape; and Tom has a certain something. 

Logically, he’s no different from the council estate bunch that Rupert hangs out with – bleached, spots, crude features, the posturing bad boy on camera and off. 

But something holds Daniel’s attention, and that’s rare, in a world that’s his for the taking, ready to change the channel, the wallpaper, anything he’s not happy with. 

Here’s something that annoys him, something he can’t get rid of, under his skin. (He knows that if it were to come down to a choice between them, Tom’d be back to fishing by the weekend, but he also knows that he shouldn’t push his weight around while he waits for the endless Harry films to finish.) 

Here’s something that excites him, makes him tense, makes him think, like the flights and the press and the job used to. 

And Tom’s fascinated by him, too. 

Daniel’s an only child who’s spent his life with adults, and he doesn’t miss a trick. 

Perceptiveness is an essential part of an actor’s repertoire, and he can see Tom eating his heart out for him, obsessing over him. 

He knows his own appeal, naturally, but he thought Tom would tend towards the big breasted blonde bimbos, as unsubtle as his hair.

Daniel’s small, his features are feminine, his voice is gentle. 

What does Tom want from him? 

Does he want to rough him up, slap him around, show him he’s no better than anyone else, teach him some quaint fisherman wisdom? Daniel sneers. 

Is he afraid of girls, does he think he’s getting the next best thing, a trial run with this posh brat who can blush on cue when asked about girls, who hasn’t fucked or been fucked but would be tight as a girl and would probably moan like one, too? 

Tom may be the eldest, likely the more experienced (Daniel knows not to mess around, his image relies on his innocence and people have a way of remembering teenage sweethearts or fuckbuddies when those partners are splattered over the paper); but he doesn’t know who he’s dealing with. 

Dan gives him teasing hints for a while; talking in the interviews they all watch in the Green Room at the beginning of each week, about how much he enjoyed the duelling scene he and Tom shared, how well they get on; checking him out blatantly on camera, safe in the knowledge that at 13 and with another boy, no-one’s going to be picking up any vibe they’re willing to share.

Tom bats back, referring to him as a ‘mischievous child’, but he’s out of his league.   
He’s in the wrong profession, he works with his body, not his mind. 

His tongue isn’t adept at twisting words, hiding their meaning; and when he jokes that they love each other really; Dan raises his eyebrows at the camera and smirks as Tom once again gets embarrassed and colours.

Daniel’s the one who’s embarrassed when Tom shoves him against his trailer, up in Scotland. 

Hardly professional, anyone could see, even on a rainy day when there’s no-one and nothing but sheep around, and Tom’s spent the day drinking in the nearby pub with the elder boys, whose company he obviously craves. 

Perhaps he’s underestimated Tom, or pushed him too far, he wonders as he shares his nervous pants. 

He notes with interest that Tom’s eyes are watering as he sticks his tongue down Dan’s throat, then into his ear. 

He’s not as smooth as Dan has expected, his fingers shake as he pulls Dan towards him by the collar and his mouth muffles whatever Dan was going to say. 

He was going to protest, of course. 

He’s the one with the power here, and Tom had better not forget it. 

He’s not the one who’s wanted this so desperately, who’s had some pathetic crush; his mind races vindictively. 

He’s in charge, as always.

Tom’s fingers curl around his wrist, until the point of pain, until he’ll be bruised black tomorrow, and Dan has the biggest hard-on he’s ever had. 

He gasps, and Tom smiles against his mouth.

If he’d given him a moment to think, he would have objected. Really.


End file.
